


Your Girl, She's A Renegade

by paperwar



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte
Genre: Asian Character, Chromatic Character, Chromatic Source, Crush, F/F, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-10
Updated: 2010-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 00:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperwar/pseuds/paperwar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chiyo's got a crush. And she can't stop touching herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Girl, She's A Renegade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Measured](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/gifts).



> Anime canon, though no spoilers. A prequel, of sorts, to [What A Girl Wants](http://archiveofourown.org/works/90331).

Chiyo can't stop touching herself. It's become her most essential evening ritual, right after dinner, when her parents assume she's locked away doing her homework. She prefers it right before bed, with the lights out, but at that time of night the house is so quiet it makes her self-conscious. Sometimes she goes for a second round anyway. In school, she even slips to the bathroom during class to send her hand up her skirt and, leaning against the closed door of the stall, see how swiftly she can make herself come, and how quietly. She likes it when she knows other girls are there.

She thinks this might be what teenage boys feel like; the force of their hormones is common knowledge, the source of endless sly remarks. But no one's really ever talked to her about girls masturbating. She knows she can't be the only one. But is she doing it too much? She has moments of insecurity where she thinks maybe something is wrong with her, that she's too hungry, too lusty: she doesn't know any other girls like that (not that she ever talks about it; not that anyone does). Is it weird? Chiyo can't really say. Is she going to stop? Not a chance.

There are a couple of girls at school about whom rumors fly. They're sluts, everyone says, only too happy to spread their legs for any boy who asks. Chiyo knows one of them; she's in the same homeroom. She thinks that the girl looks rather withdrawn and shy, not the wanton creature school legend depicts. Chiyo wants to know if she masturbates too. Would Chiyo be ostracized in the same way if her classmates knew about her habit? Is it worse than supposedly having sex with half the school?

Chiyo's friends notice that she's easily distracted, a half-presence, disengaged and unimpressed with things around her. Sometimes they catch her with a sudden smile playing around her lips. At first they're offended. Then they reason that she has a crush. They spend a raucous lunchtime trying to guess who it is; she gives just enough comment to lead them in the wrong direction, just enough to get them to leave her alone.

Because she does have a crush.

It's not something new, this kind of befuddling obsession. Back in middle school, there was a girl on her softball team. She should probably feel bad that she can't remember her name now, but the girl moved away after a few weeks -- her father had been transferred, or something like that -- and absence, in this case, did nothing but erase her from Chiyo's affections. But for those weeks, Chiyo had been aware of herself, sharply conscious of every motion she made around her, in a way she'd never been before. She made excuses to talk to her, walk partway home with her. Eye contact would make her blush. Chiyo even found herself doing the embarrassing things she'd noticed her friends doing with boys: looking over at her through half-closed lashes, running fingers through her hair in a way intended to be flirtatious.

She moved away, and Chiyo soon forgot about her. Though she remembers now what it had been like.

This feels like that. Except amplified a thousand times -- partly, she supposes, by the presence of hormones, all that stuff about growing up. There can be no other explanation for her new habit of bringing herself, gasping into her pillow at night or the crook of her elbow in school, to orgasm over and over.

She didn't expect to find this feeling again in a baseball coach. That's practically the same thing as having a crush on a teacher, something Chiyo finds as distasteful as it is incomprehensible. But there it is: that same giddy self-consciousness. The way that the world seems to contract around the object of a crush until she's all that can be seen.

Well. Momoe isn't responsible for her grades; she isn't teaching her in a class, there isn't that connection and responsibility. Plus, she's a million times more intriguing than any teacher. Do any of them ride a motorcycle? Chiyo doubts it.

She also has the biggest breasts Chiyo has seen on a person that isn't in a magazine. Chiyo feels a little bit like a boy, the way she stares at them (unobtrusively, she hopes, but maybe she's just leering), the way she contemplates what they look like, freed from the uniform. Her nipples must be huge.

Chiyo's never met anyone like her, with a radiant fierceness too big to be contained. Momoe doesn't quail at the thought of dealing with ten high school boys every day. And they know it; they're actually intimidated. They respect her; they trust her; but yes, they're scared of her. Hanai especially. Is Chiyo scared? Not in the least. She thinks of those strong hands and shivers, thinks of them on her body, under her clothes, gliding along her skin.

She wonders if Momoe likes girls. If she would be, in theory, opposed to dating a student. Even though she isn't a teacher.

_Dating_. Chiyo cringes when she catches herself using that word. It's so quaint. She doesn't want to date Momoe, she wants to be engulfed by her. To bite Momoe's nipples through her clothes. Bruises. Friction. Rumpled bedclothes, eyes fogged with morning sleepiness. She's never had that, nothing even close, but knows she wants it.

Momoe's a bright star burning. Someone like that, so very fearless and at home in her body? Chiyo craves that energy, wants to find Momoe's lust and rise to meet it.

She's dazed and careless everywhere else, but Chiyo is sharper during practice, hyper-efficient. They're all impressed by her data analysis; they gorge themselves on the perfect onigiri she gives them. She loves baseball. She wouldn't have become the manager if she didn't. She has a good feeling about the fledgling team. She admires their spirit.

And now she has another motivation to be the best manager possible. She laps up every word of gratitude from Momoe, though sometimes she thinks that excellence is the wrong tactic. "Thank you, Chiyo-chan!": it's patronizing. So clear that Momoe sees her as a sweet high school girl working hard. It feels the same way as when a teacher praises her for helping out. It's fine, it's good -- she likes to be helpful -- but in this case it falls so short. Right now, she knows, she's the steady, reliable one. Which she's always been. There is comfort in it, and pride, and a sense of accomplishment. Yet it's never felt quite so limiting before. Good managers don't fantasize about taking off the coach's pants, never mind actually doing it.

She tries to be friendly without being awkward or obvious. Sometimes she even makes Momoe laugh. That's a start, right? She's proving she's not some managerial automaton.

And then there's a moment, one day. It's the sort of thing Chiyo fears later that she's invented. But for one startled heartbeat, it feels like Momoe is giving her a look of... consideration?

So Chiyo knows that this is possible. There might be a door opening here. She's worked hard all her life; she's not going to stop now. She'll keep being the superstar manager. But she's got this other goal too. How to Seduce the Coach: there's no schoolbook or trashy magazine from the convenience store that will help her here. Chiyo's smart, though; she'll figure something out.


End file.
